


Endeavour: Moon

by Parakeetist



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Buried Past, Death in the Family, Diabetes, Dreams, F/M, Family Trouble, Fear, Food, Love is Strange, Mother-Son Relationship, Nightmares, Oxford, Police, insulin, mother - Freeform, stepmother - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parakeetist/pseuds/Parakeetist
Summary: Continuing on from "Sun." Beginning of fifth season.





	Endeavour: Moon

Endeavour: Moon  
by Parakeetist

The science museum opened promptly at nine. By nine thirty, Joan led the first tour, a group of schoolchildren. 

“You can see here,” she said, “this Van de Graff generator.” 

“That light’s really crackling,” said one of the boys. 

“That’s right,” Joan continued. “Who wants to come up and help me?” All the kids raised their hands. “Let’s see, you and you.” She pointed to a girl and a boy. “Now, everybody watch before and after. Got it?” The group nodded and giggled. “Okay. Put your hands on the surface.” She smiled. 

“Oooh! Aaah!” the entire audience said. 

“That’s right! It’s because-” 

“Lady, what’s that ring on your finger?” said one of the boys. 

“Ah, it’s from university. Now try again with the generator, and this time move-” 

“So you’re not married?” The boy tilted his head. 

Joan was startled. “Ah, let’s move on.” 

“When are you going to get married?” 

“Ah-” Joan moved next to the kids at the generators. “Let’s try again.” 

“Hey, lady-” the boy said, but Joan ignored him. 

Endeavour walked out of the doctor’s office. His face was ashen. He got in his car and drove very quickly to the police station. Some people honked him as he zigzagged through traffic. He turned up the volume on the radio. 

When he got to the station, he rushed up the stairs. He was panting by the time he reached his desk. 

“Whoa, slow down, sailor!” Jim Strange said. “How was the appointment?” 

“Never you mind,” Morse said. “Where’s my file on the Ramirez case?” 

“Right where you left it yesterday. In your In tray.” 

Endeavour looked down. “Oh.” He picked it up. 

Jim was still watching him. “What? Did you need help?” 

“No,” Morse said. “I’m all right. I’ll get some water.” Endeavour went to the cooler and drew a cup. 

Supt. Bright walked into the center of the large room. “Attention, please.” Everyone stood up. “They are working on the car park in the back. Stay out of the taped-off areas. You don’t want fresh tar on your-” 

With barely a wobble of warning, Endeavour toppled to the floor. Jim rushed to help him. 

“Good God! What was that?” Bright said. “Call an ambulance!” 

A WPC made the call. Jim turned Morse over. The man’s nose was bruised. “Lucky thing he doesn’t wear glasses,” Strange said. 

Two other officers helped Jim pull Endeavour into a chair. The ambulance arrived in a few minutes. 

“Wonder what’s gone wrong. Did he tell you what the doctor said this morning?” Bright asked Strange. 

“No. Just asked me where his file was. He found it.” 

“Call the hospital in an hour. We’ll find out.” Bright walked away. 

Jim made the call as requested. He was put through to an administrator. 

“Patient Services, may I help you?” 

“Yes, my name is Jim Strange, I’m with the Thames Valley Police. I’m looking for a patient with the last name of Morse.” 

“Could you help me out? That’s not the most uncommon name in the world.” 

“I don’t see what you mean.” 

“What is his first name?” 

“Ah, it’s-” Jim ran a finger under the collar of his shirt. “Do you really need to know?” 

“Look, stop wasting my-” 

The conversation paused as an orderly came up to talk to the administrator. They whispered back and forth for a minute. 

“Okay, let me look.” The administrator flipped through his guide book. “Mr. Morse is in intensive care right now. He may be out in a few hours. You’ll have to call back later.” 

“Can you tell me what his diagnosis is?” 

“No. I don’t have it. Try again in the evening.” 

“Around six o’clock?” 

“That would be good.” 

“Thank you. Goodbye now.” Jim hung up. 

He went to Mr. Bright’s office. “Sir,” he said. “Got the update. DS Morse is in intensive care. They said to call again around six, and they’d have more information.” 

“Well, do that, please.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“If you’re a praying man, say one.” 

“Yes.” 

“Dismissed.” Jim left. 

Strange went to his workstation. The fact that Endeavour was in the intensive unit obviously meant that they had found something seriously wrong. He might need surgery. 

There were a few hours to go ‘til the end of the day. Jim set about straightening up his desk. 

At six o’clock, Jim called back the hospital. He got through to a nurse. 

“Hello, I’d like to see about a patient. It’s Detective Sergeant Morse, with the Thames Valley Police. I’m with the police myself. Name’s Jim Strange.” 

“Yes, let me look that up. Okay… he’s being kept overnight for observation. They have down that he’s a possible morning check-out.” 

“Good. Should I call back then?” 

“Yes. Around nine should be good. That’s when they review people.” 

“All right. Do you know his diagnosis?” 

“No. They are sometimes reluctant to let me know that sort of thing.” 

“Not your fault. Bye now.” 

“Goodbye, sir.” 

Jim hung up. He sighed. They didn’t want to tell him the diagnosis. He was sure someone had written it down somewhere. They figured he’d have to call Morse’s family, and tell them bad news. He was a detective. He knew how to recognize dodges. 

For the first time in ages, Jim didn’t have the energy to pile back to the pub. He got his coat and went home. 

The next morning, Strange reported early, and went right to his desk, to stare at the phone. When the clock hit nine, he dialed. 

“Hello, please, this is Detective Jim Strange.” 

“Uh-huh,” said the nurse. “I recognize you from yesterday. Let me see. Was that Morse you were looking up?” 

“Yes.” 

“He’s ready to go now. They’ve signed him out.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be over.” 

Jim couldn’t drive fast enough on his way to the hospital. He reached the car park and got out. 

The front desk nurse waved at the waiting area. “He’s all ready to go. No more paperwork. You may leave.” 

“Thank you.” 

Jim rushed to the seats. Endeavour was there, in a wheelchair. He looked as glum as Strange had ever seen him look, and that was saying something. 

“Hey! How are you, matey? What did they tell you?” Jim went behind the chair and pushed it toward the front doors. “Everyone at the office said get well.” 

“Thank you,” Morse mumbled, barely loudly enough to be heard. 

“So what did they say?” Jim repeated. “What’s the diagnosis?” 

Morse remained silent. Puzzled, Jim decided to get him in the car before asking him again. 

He put Morse in the passenger seat and returned the wheelchair to the entry room. Then he went to the car. 

“Well! Let’s have it.” Jim smiled and looked at Morse. 

Endeavour’s head tilted. He muttered something. Again, Jim couldn’t hear it. 

“Louder?” Jim pleaded. 

Endeavour sighed and rolled his eyes. “Diabetes.” 

Jim’s head drew back. “Oh, man. That’s not something you want to hear. I’m sorry, mate. Can you eat? Do you want to go get dinner?” 

Endeavour shook his head. “Just take me home.” 

“You sure? I can pay. Won’t take but a few minutes.” 

“Eh, all right.” Morse groaned and shifted on his seat. 

Jim put on a news radio station. He drove toward a fast food place. He picked up a couple of platters and paid. 

“Just so you don’t have to cook tomorrow, either. I got you roast chicken and noodles, and roast shrimp. That should be easy on your stomach.” 

“I’ve got to drop off this scrip,” Morse said. He held up a little piece of blue paper. “It’s for – ah – it’s for – never mind what it is.” 

“Gimme,” Jim said, and grabbed the paper before Endeavour could object. “Insulin and needles. I’m sorry, I genuinely am. I’ll take this to the chemist’s for you tomorrow morning.” 

Endeavour nodded. He said nothing for the rest of the ride. 

Joan got home from work. She used the washroom and proceeded to start on dinner. 

Rachel walked in. “Hey, gloom city, eh? Boyfriend problems?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Joan stirred the salmon and peppers in the frying pan. She was alarmed at how quickly her flatmate had noticed what was up. Better work on her poker face. 

“Sure. Who was he?” 

“Well, we never went on a date. He stood me up.” 

“Ouch. Well, there’s other fish, as they say. Why don’t you ask out that Marsh fellow? You know, the one from the police?” 

“I don’t know any such person.” Joan stirred the fish even faster. 

“Oh, you know who I’m talking about.” 

“His name is Morse.” 

“Aha! Told you.” Rachel pointed at Joan and smiled. “Well, good luck.” 

“Mm-hmm.” Joan continued to furiously scrub the fish. It was going to be burned in a minute. 

Jim pulled up to Endeavour’s place. He helped Morse get out. 

Endeavour took out his keys. It took him several tries to turn them. 

Jim noticed that the man was mumbling to himself, and wobbling dangerously. He stuck out his hands and grabbed Morse under the arms. Strange helped him to the couch. 

“Is there something you could eat that would help you? The chemist doesn’t open until eight. Ah, you got any candy?” Jim searched his own pockets. Then he went to the kitchen. 

He came back with a brownie from the fridge. “Eat,” he said, and handed Morse the plate. 

Endeavour took a couple of bites. He nodded to Jim. “Where did you put the dinners?” 

“In the fridge.” 

“Good. Ah, thanks for the drive.” 

“Anytime. You want me to tell Mr. Thursday and everybody?” 

“Go ahead.” 

“I’m sure Mr. Thursday will be able to get you the time off. Just sleep tomorrow. I’ll come by with the medicine when it’s ready.” 

“Yes.” 

“You sure you’re gonna be all right?” 

“I’ll make it.” 

“Call me if anything happens.” 

“All right.” 

Jim left. As he shut the door, he heard music coming from Morse’s bedroom. It wasn’t classical. It was a pop station. The Supremes, “Baby Love.” Curious. 

He went home. 

The next day, just before her lunch break, Joan was at her desk, and working on a report. The phone rang. 

“Hello, may I help you?” 

She heard grumblings on the other end. It took a minute for her to realize who it was. 

“Morse, are you okay? I can’t hear you.” 

His voice got a little louder, but she still couldn’t make out the words. “I’m sorry. Please, say that one more time?” 

He hung up. She listened to the dial tone a second, before she put down the receiver. 

Joan figured she’d give her father a call at the station, when she got back from lunch. He ought to have a significant update. She left for the burger shop. 

Fred Thursday came back from a meeting and stood behind his desk. He was looking for some photos, when the phone rang. 

“Thursday here?” 

“Hello,” Morse rasped. 

“What are you doing out of bed, lad? Get some rest. I filed the paperwork. Your leave’s been approved.” 

“Thank you, sir. I meant to ask you about the McGonagall case.” 

“It’s been transferred to DC Sutphin. Don’t worry.” 

“And the Norman Monument case?” 

“That’s with DC Bremner. I wouldn’t let it go without it being worked on.” 

“Ah. And how’s Miss – uh, your wife?” 

“Well enough, thank God. Did you need me to send any food or something? I don’t mind getting it together.” 

“I think I have enough food in my fridge.” 

“Oh, you never eat, much less buy anything. I’ll have it sent over. Anything else?” 

“No, sir. Thank you.” 

“Get better now. Bye.” He hung up. 

Morse took the first serving of chicken out of the fridge and heated it in the frying pan for a few minutes. He shut off the heat and put the food on a plate.

Minutes later, he was watching television. It was tuned to the news. He thought he’d try to stay up and watch the afternoon movie. It was a stinker: “The Giant Spider,” starring one Caleb Wells, and a very large eight-legged puppet. Endeavour thought he’d be better off reading, and putting on some music. 

He put his plate in the sink and went to his room. He had just picked up a book when the phone rang. 

“Morse?” 

“Ah, hello,” Joan said. “I wanted to say something.” 

“Go ahead?” 

“I am sorry for what I said. I was out of line.” 

“We all make mistakes.” 

“Thank you. That is a big load off my mind.” 

“I haven’t… heard from her again. I have that effect on a lot of people, it seems.” 

“Someday. You are worth it.” 

He blushed. “Thank you.” 

“I made some soup. Did you want me to bring it over?” 

“No, it’s not necessary. I must have some in the cabinet.” 

“Dad said you’re clean out.” 

He checked the cabinet. “Well… he’s right.” 

“Okay, I’ll bring it over. And some sugar wafers. And a few other things. See you soon.” 

“Bye.” He hung up. 

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. He was going to express surprise at how quickly she’d gotten here, when he saw it was Jim. 

“I was a bit late. There was a meeting.” He smiled and held up a bag. “Your items of pharmacology, sir.” He walked in. 

Jim put the bag down on a table. “It’s got an instruction kit, so you don’t have to do things in the dark. Good luck with it, matey.” He tapped Endeavour on the shoulder. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ve got to get going. Call the station once in a while.” 

“I will.” 

Jim noticed that Endeavour held just the trace of a smile. “What are you so happy about?” Strange said. “You got a girl coming over?” 

“Oh, well, I-” Endeavour blushed. 

Jim moved toward the door. “Tell her I said hi.” He left. 

Endeavour busied himself reading the instructions for dosage. He popped some aspirin and drank a glass of water. 

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. 

“Postman, I-” he said as he opened it. 

It was Joan. “Brought you some things.” She lifted up plastic bags, and set them down on the table. “Soup,” she said, taking out a large, circular container. “Groceries,” she said, patting another bag. “Soda pop and beer.” 

“Thank you.” He smiled briefly. 

“I got Bass.” 

“Acceptable.” 

“Roast beef, turkey, green peppers, lettuce, dressing – you can make a few meals out of these.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Here’s the wafers,” she said, lifting up the pack before she put it in the fridge. “Now, did you need anything else?” 

“No. Mr. Strange brought me the prescription. I was about to take the first dose.” 

“Oh.” She picked up the needle from the table, and an antiseptic wipe. “Sleeve up.” 

“You don’t have to-” he said sheepishly, but she pointed to the chair. “All right,” he said, and pulled up his sleeve. 

It was over in seconds. He barely noticed the needle going in. “All done,” she said. “I brought you something, so you could take your supplies to work.” She held up a black bag. “It doesn’t have a strap, so the officers won’t call it a purse.” 

“Thank you. Saved me a pound or two.” 

“No problem. I’ll be going now.” 

“Do you have to?” 

She half-smiled. “I need to get to bed. Full day of work tomorrow.” 

“Shame.” The corners of his mouth turned up. 

“Ah-” 

She stood up. He followed. 

“Bye now,” he said. 

They moved toward one another. It was the slowest kiss. They both closed their eyes. 

“Well,” she said, after a moment. He nodded. She left. 

Afterwards, he took out of his dresser a tunic and shorts. He changed into them. They were burgundy, shot through with silver; he did not wear them often. 

He got under the covers and closed his eyes. Sleep overcame him. 

He did not feel restful. 

He dreamed he was back with his stepmother. He was age twelve. 

Endeavour sat at the kitchen table and tried to finish his cereal. 

“Look at you.” She flicked the hair on the back of his neck. 

“Please, Miss Gwen, stop.” 

She continued the flicking. “You boys wear your hair so long these days. No wonder people say things about you.” 

At last, she dropped her hand. He quickly spooned up the last of the fruit circles. 

“And don’t read,” she said. “You’re supposed to be a good workman. Lifting things in a factory. You’d better be. It’s what your father wants.” 

“Why do I have to stay here? Why can’t I stay with my real mother?” 

She swung her rolling pin into his face. “Ouch!” he screamed, and put a hand to his injured jaw. “I ought to call the cops on you!” 

“She can’t take care of you. I can.” All the time, she never looked directly at him. 

The phone rang. “Hello?” 

Gwen was silent for a long time. Then she hung up. 

“She finally died.” 

“Who?” Endeavour knew the answer. 

“Your wretched mother. She’ll be in her grave soon enough.” 

“No!” he sobbed. "Don't you call her that!" Tears rolled down his face. 

“Get out of here,” Gwen said. He rushed upstairs. 

He slammed the door of his room. There were posters on the wall, which depicted a couple of football stars, nature scenes, and a map of the world. Endeavour hardly saw them. He turned on the stereo and flopped down on the bed. 

He cried and cried. Who was going to protect him now? 

Where was Joyce? Probably riding her trike in the backyard. She wasn't old enough to talk to about this subject anyway. 

Endeavour thought about the big knife in the drawer downstairs. It was in the one underneath the regular dinner utensils. No, not tonight. Not now. Would any of his school friends remember him? Who was he kidding? He didn’t have friends. No one came over to visit. 

He put his arms around himself and moaned. He tried to think of happy memories, of him riding his tricycle while his mother swept the front yard. She was smiling. She was always smiling. 

1950\. A new decade. Death. Following him, like that tarot card lady said. Wait a minute, where had that memory come from? What was it doing in his head? 

Why had his Mom and Dad gotten married? His father was cold. His mother was anything but. Had he gotten her in the family way, and that was why they had a wedding? 

Endeavour screamed. 

In 1968, Endeavour woke up. He was still screaming. 

He stopped, and turned his head to the side. Moonlight streamed through the window. 

He stared at the wall.


End file.
